


Blind Date

by kanadka



Category: Spooks | MI-5
Genre: M/M, Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-09
Updated: 2016-02-09
Packaged: 2018-05-19 10:28:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5963986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kanadka/pseuds/kanadka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Let's grab coffees sometime" is not something that Lucas is very good at.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blind Date

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rekall](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rekall/gifts).



> Treat for [chocolatebox2015](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/chocolatebox2015)!

"I don't know, why I am doing this," says Misha, in his thick accent.

"Because you're a kind man?" guesses Lucas. "Because you want to give me a second chance." Not that Lucas is really worthy of it.

It's quite the miracle that Misha has agreed to meet him again, because Lucas was unbearably rude, by normal person standards, the last time they met. Coffee had turned into arguments had turned into a chair pushed in with too much force and an overturned teacup and pointing fingers and mutterings about monitoring and higher-ups and whether his country has sent him here as Lucas' raven.

Of _course_ Misha didn't know what Lucas was on about. Of _course_ , because Misha is a naturalised citizen of the United Kingdom, and is completely unrelated to any of Lucas' life.

But Lucas could not - and truly, even now, still cannot - help asking himself: did they send him? Did _they_ send him?

Who is _they_. Is it the Russians, or is it the English? Does it even matter, in the end? A handler's a handler, and Lucas hadn't wanted a physical interpretation.

But it doesn't make any sense. The English know he likes Russians, but they also know he likes them dark-haired and female. They know he likes pretty women. Misha is male - he smells male, he looks male, he is three centimetres taller than Lucas and broad-shouldered with solid, tree-trunk arms and fit thighs and a nice arse. And he's blond.

And he's clearly had his nose broken before, so he's not even pretty.

Well. That's a bit of a lie. Misha is a _little_ pretty, in a grizzled way. In the grizzled way, which is evocative of people who have had one too many drinks at a sports bar that doesn't support their team. But not in the grizzled way that denotes someone who has served their country by squirming around a criminal underbelly. Only the latter is Lucas familiar with.

Now, the Russians... the Russians know a little more about him.

Which brings him to another question, does he resemble Oleg in any way?

Certainly. Misha resembles Oleg in the way that any two Russians might resemble one another. He isn't Tartar, he doesn't look Asiatic, which would easily separate him from Oleg. All other physical similarities are base. He has a nose, Oleg has a nose. They both have all their teeth. Each possess a full head of hair. That is nothing. Lucas struggles to link the two, and yet part of him craves finding a similarity, even to the point of conjuring one where they may be none.

If it seems callous to dissect a man's appearance so as to glean something of his motives, it is; but this is how Lucas has survived, and in the time he's been alive, he hasn't learnt other means.

And Misha is willing to be patient with him, and warm - warmer than anybody Lucas has ever met. He's kind. He seems blessedly mundane. He is completely untouched by, and ignorant of, the unspeakable horrors that befall intelligence agents. And if he doesn't have Oleg's deep, dark eyes - Misha's are grey-blue - perhaps so much the better.

"Because I think you're nice, maybe?" Misha guesses finally. "And - you are lonely. I too am lonely. What other reasons to meet someone for coffee, yes?"

"Perhaps because you might like them," Lucas replies, and extends a hand across the table to curve over Misha's, where it rests near his teacup. Misha smiles, and it looks nothing like Oleg's. Misha's is sweet; Misha's is genuine.

It doesn't stop Lucas from reading twenty things from the minutiae of his face.


End file.
